


Home Away From Home

by VelvetNeedsToRant



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: But it's really brief, Fluff, For the most part, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Internal Monologue, Kinda, Mentions of Size Kink, Multi, Really just a bit of Reader's life on the LL, Rung is so blissfully unaware, Short & Sweet, Smol human makes a big difference, baby's first fic, relationships are mostly implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 02:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetNeedsToRant/pseuds/VelvetNeedsToRant
Summary: You contemplate your life on the Lost Light, and how a small little human like yourself managed to make such a big difference.





	Home Away From Home

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first piece that I write and actually publish because the fear is real and it's here. It's really messy and all over the place, mainly because I wrote it out of a desire to write rather than with any actual inspiration. Thus, I'm not sure it'll be the Most Enjoyable Read Ever™, but it's the thought that counts, eh?

Being a human on board the _Lost Light_ means never having a day off. Sure, there isn’t exactly any work to do on your part most of the time, but dealing with a crew like this should get you paid more than any dentist to have ever existed, because they’re, simply put, a handful and a half of unstable robots from outer space with individual heaps of emotional baggage that come to life and pounce at the most unexpected moments. Every single one of them is a piece of work, and you’ve never felt as sorry for anyone as you feel for Rung (and maybe yourself).

 

Still, you wouldn’t say you’d like it any other way. Okay, so less spontaneous horrifying discoveries and PTSD attacks would be very much welcome, but overall, the trouble this crew puts you through is a solid change to the droning monotone of your life on Earth -- a change you embrace. When you got the opportunity to be sent to space along with some cool aliens, you immediately cleared your nonexistent schedule, and in turn, got exactly what you asked for. Well, not _exactly_ , per se, but it was close enough and you were satisfied. Besides, you’ve become so emotionally attached to all the bots you’ve made friends with, you can’t really imagine a life without them that would ever be as fulfilling; even if they’re all going to outlive you eventually.

 

But beyond the adventures, the diversity is just amazing. You won’t find two bots with the same personality. Some may be similar, but there’s always something that distinguishes one from another. And their colors! Humans are limited to several skin shades and body shapes, but ultimately, they all look quite similar. Cybertronians are so different. Their paintjobs are colorful and unique, each with its signature charm, and while most bots have vaguely humanoid silhouettes to them, some don’t fit that bill at all. They have armors that each have their own customized quirks. They’re all so different and that's so amazing.

 

However, contrary to what _some_ would say, you don’t find them exactly _superior_ to humans. They have advanced technology and all that, and they’ve, as a species, been around a whole lot longer than humans could probably ever hope to be, but that doesn’t necessarily make them better. Humans also have had wars over prejudice and slavery and freedom, and while those issues are still very much existent, they’re not as prominent as they once were. Humans have had dark moments, but most have learned from them and moved on. Of course, Earth could still be so much better, but any progress is progress in your opinion.

 

Most of the time, it’s just a matter of the asshole minority yelling louder than the majority that you could almost call _benign_ , but not quite; because on a planet like Earth, even a toddler’s motives may be questionable. So maybe it’s not black and white, but then again, nothing ever is.

 

But the Great War is really the least of your concerns. What you have to deal with is the aftermath, and at this point, you don’t really care about which side won and which was right and which committed the most or least atrocities because they all fucked up pretty bad and the only thing that matters to you is making sure the rag-tag crew you’ve become so fond of is mentally, physically, and emotionally stable. They carry around so much pain and they don’t seem to understand you when you say you can’t give less of a fuck about what they used to do or who they used to be; that all that matters is the now, and that honestly, they’re doing pretty great. But you’re content with the progress you _have_ made anyway.

 

Rung took you in as something like his assistant. You help him with his patients, and usually take a more firm and blunt approach while still taking any trauma the mech you’re helping may have had into consideration. Whirl is extraordinarily nice to you. Sure, he’s still. . . _Whirl_ , but he’s toned down immensely on the fatalistic humor, and actually seems to be appreciating life a little more, although someone who doesn’t know him quite as well might not notice. Swerve is also much better. His smiles are more genuine and his laughter even more so. Rodimus is less rash. Ratchet is less grumpy. Magnus is less uptight. Megatron is more accepting of himself and doesn’t wallow in self-hatred nearly as frequently as he used to.

 

You’ve made things change, and you can’t help but be proud of yourself for it. You’ve never felt as comfortable and secure as you do in the _Lost Light_ , and in return, you give back that same comfort and security to the mechs who took you in. It’s a mutually beneficial -- if somewhat unspoken -- agreement all over, and, speaking generally, you truly couldn’t be happier with the life you lead. Sometimes you miss Earth and your friends and family, but when you look at the bigger picture, you can’t help but feel that _this_ is where you’re meant to be and _this_ is what you’re meant to do. And being a tiny insignificant human helping gigantic alien robots recover from trauma might be a little unorthodox, but once one warms up to the idea, it’s actually quite endearing.

 

Swallowing down the rest of the water Swerve managed to nab for you, you turn and smile at Rung, who peers into his own class of high grade a little wistfully. “You okay there, Rung?”

 

The mech blinks once, twice, before returning your smile and sliding on his glasses. “I’m quite well, dear. Just reminiscing.” You feel yourself flush at the sound of the pet name, even though it isn’t necessarily exclusive to you, nor does it, in any way, imply emotional and/or romantic attachment. It’s something Rung says to soothe his patients, and it works remarkably well. You usually explore the avenue of calling them things like “aft” and “dingus” when they’re being too stubborn and it never fails to provoke a satisfyingly emotional outburst. Rung’s looks of chastisement and exasperated affection make it all worth it.

 

“Feel like sharing? I don’t mind listening,” you offer, walking over to sit on his palm, an action that’s almost second nature by now. Rung strokes a thumb down your back absently and hums, placid smile still on his face.

 

“Maybe later,” he acquiesces, taking a quiet sip of his drink. “I feel like enjoying the atmosphere. It’s lovely to see everyone so relaxed.”

 

And he’s right. The emotional climate at Swerve’s is peaceful, and even though there are bots guzzling down glasses of engex by the dozen, no one seems particularly inclined to start a brawl for any -- probably ridiculously petty -- reason. Rather, everyone is either sober and enjoying the music, tipsy and chatting amiably, or completely sloshed and drunkenly complimenting random things about each other. Swerve buzzes around happily, serving drinks and stopping to chat with regular patrons, or even indulging the occasional completely polished mech.

 

“This is nice,” you mumble, offhanded but almost amused. Rung’s smile widens and he nods with his usual automatic discretion. He tilts his helm a certain way and you follow his gaze. It lands on Tailgate and Cyclonus -- the latter struggling to contain his smile as he converses with his squirming lapful of giggling minibot. You grin and sigh. The two finally got over themselves enough to start a courtship that quickly went from _tentative_ to _decadent_ . The only ones who can compete in terms of both passion and cuteness are Chromedome and Rewind, who _have_ to be your ultimate relatively perfect relationship aesthetic, which you didn't even know you had until you met them and realized relationships on Earth can't hold a candle to the sheer  _adorableness_ that is being Conjunx Endura with someone.

 

For a second, you debate the likelihood of you having a _thing_ for pairings comprised of _the big one_ and _the small one_ . Your gaze flickers to Swerve -- who’s blushing all the way to his neck as he serves Ultra Magnus a glass of light engex while Magnus looks down at him with what’s almost the beginnings of a smile -- and you flush almost as badly as Swerve himself. Okay, so maybe you do have some weird kind of size kink, but after you’ve surrounded yourself with robots thrice your height, that’s sort of to be expected. Had you possessed any less shame, you would’ve talked to Rung about it. He’s probably run into weirder things in his (long, _long_ ) lifetime.

 

“You know,” you begin quietly, “I really, really like it here. I’m glad I got this opportunity, and I’m glad that I’m spending time with you guys. You’re a whole lot better than some of the humans back on Earth.” At this point in time, you’ve stopped referring to your native planet as _home_ . Nowadays, Earth is just Earth, and while you do miss it, the _Lost Light_ is home. You can’t help but notice that most mechs seem to do the same, regarding Cybertron as nothing but the planet they’re trying to (you dimly realize you still have no idea what exactly they’re doing on this ship, but file away that kettle of fish for later) save. They only refer to it as their home when they’re trying to make a point about something.

 

Rung’s smile is now much more genuine -- the smile of someone who’s deeply enjoying making conversation. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” he returns warmly. “It’s nice to learn about a foreign species, and you’re excellent company. I like knowing that I have someone who’s a friend not just inside the office. A _real_ friend, not a patient.”

 

Your face is hot again. You try to be smooth and chuckle, but it comes out as an awkward hysterical giggle that makes you sound remarkably unhinged. _What a charmer_. “Aw, thanks, Rung! I love being your friend, too.”

 

Your tone was audibly giddy. Did that come off as too eager? You’re not exactly sure. If it did, though, Rung says nothing about it.

 

“No, dear,” he shakes his helm cutely and your blush somehow manages to brighten. At this point you’re positive you could fry an egg. Maybe even some crispy bacon. “Thank _you_. We’ve changed since your arrival, and only for the better. It’s mind-blowing that someone so small can make such a big difference.”

 

Normally you’d bristle or huff at the jab towards your height, but you know Rung doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, like some other mechs do. He’s simply trying to emphasize just how big of an impact you’ve had on this crew, and how unexpected it is that said impact comes from a soft tiny creature from another planet -- a planet very different from theirs. So instead of hissing and spitting like a feisty feline, you offer Rung your best smile and cuddle into his palm.

 

There’s a lull in conversation and, for once, you’re okay with that. You sit there and watch Rung gulp down some more of his engex, humming thoughtfully in a way you can’t help but find adorable. He gives you that dizzying smile between sips, and you deny yourself the opportunity of contemplating the rush of warmth that spreads throughout your body.


End file.
